


Slaves and Sleeplessness

by terrible_but_great474



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance, School Era, dramione - Freeform, goblet of fire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrible_but_great474/pseuds/terrible_but_great474
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tired Hermione works overtime fighting for elf rights while Draco continues an exhausting life of self-doubt and attention-seeking. From their turmoil emerges a beautiful friendship and a mutual, secret hope for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Still working on it but it's so close to being done! Please comment below anything that comes to mind!

Hermione rushed into the bathroom, eyes shining, her S.P.E.W. collection tin rattling in her hands. She sat in the middle stall, biting back tears and trying not to remember three years ago, when she sat in the very same stall and was attacked by a gargantuan mountain troll.

_Back when Ron and Harry were on my side_ , she thought bitterly.

Not that this was quite as drastic as that instance. She would definitely prefer their help against a troll than in her Society, but she just wished someone would help in her battle for social justice! _And they call themselves Gryffindors, psh!_

The injustice done to those poor house elves threatened to overwhelm her. _Slave labor_ , she thought, _cruel, unrelenting slave labor_. Not even the teachers would support her. So much for being their favorite student. Hermione even suspected that some of them had elves themselves; it certainly wouldn't surprise her to find that Professor Snape had been keeping small creatures oppressed in some dark, dingy basement somewhere, folding his socks and cleaning his cauldrons. It was sickening. Repulsive. Why was she so alone in this? It was one thing with the boys: say as they would that they were her friends, she knew their affection for her had a limit. She just frankly wasn't cool or fun or _good_ enough to warrant their full attention. Ron would never approach a subject so sensitive as this, and Harry had a easy way out by taking Ron's side. That was the problem: no one wanted to confront the issues. It was too uncomfortable to know that they had indirectly been oppressing their fellows their entire lives. And it sure didn't help when those being oppressed had no desire for a revolution.

Hermione took a few minutes to collect herself; she resolved she would _find_ people who cared, _make_ them care. She stashed her tin in her bag, smoothed her hair uselessly in the mirror, and marched with straight-backed pride to Charms.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione grumbled as she chopped rats' tails in Potions that Friday. A week had gone by since petitioning the Gryffindors to join SPEW and the best she'd gotten was a few nervous underclassmen to toss a couple Sickles her way. She was seriously running low on money for yarn. Not that the house elves seemed inclined to take her gifts of hats and socks. Hermione blinked tears away as she remembered finding last night's work in the trash this morning. Her hands shook from lack of sleep, which earned her a sneer from Professor Snape as he surveyed her uneven rats' tails.

Draco's rats' tails, of course, were simply outstanding. Probably cause he spent so much time grooming his own, the little rodent. Hermione was acutely aware that Potions was the only class she was currently second-best in. And it had to be behind _him?_ Worse yet, as much as she wanted to blame favoritism (and Harry and Ron sure adopted that idea quickly), Hermione knew Draco really _was_ a talented potion-maker. He was right behind her in lots of their classes, actually, but whereas Hermione didn't plan to continue her education with the riveting Potions Master, she could see Draco doing just fine at NEWT level. The git.

On her way to the Great Hall with the boys, Hermione shook her tin at everyone she passed. She was quite pleased to earn a silver Sickle for her efforts, _and_ she handed pamphlets to a whole _three_ second year Ravenclaws, who seemed mildly interested. Though one insisted that the membership pin would throw off her outfit, which was a solid black, shapeless robe, much like everyone else's.

She settled in to her macaroni, to the indignation of Ron. "Oh so now you're A-okay with slave labor huh? Blimey, I'm glad that's finished," he snorted.

_Arse_. "Oh please, Ronald, I have to eat. Besides," she drew herself up importantly, "I've found new areas to focus my efforts. I think the house elves would benefit from bathing facilities. It would help them get cleaned up; take some pride in themselves. And then they could look presentable for interviews."

"Interviews with who?" _With whom_ , she mentally corrected. "Look, 'mione, house elves aren't employees. They're born into a family; they're like butlers" he said patiently.

"They're _like_ slaves! And once they learn their natural rights and potential, there's sure to be a thriving economy of house elf positions in all sorts of fields! They could have their own department in the ministry, and their size makes them excellent for jobs in plumbing, pest control; not to mention corporate positions. The possibilities are endless! And it all starts with getting them access to the prefects' washrooms. I mean honestly, there's so much space in there for so few people. They couldn't possibly mind sharing the facilities."

Ron looked like he might argue, but Harry placed a refraining hand on him and he tore into a chicken leg instead, a bitter look on his face. Ron's family was one of the oldest lines of wizarding lineage. Hermione wondered if perhaps _they_ had once had an elf or two...certainly it would explain the current mess of things if they had once counted on a servant. But, then again, that was something Ginny probably would have mentioned at some point; her and Hermione were becoming much friendlier this year, to the indignation of Ron.

She tried to focus on her food but the row with Ron had drained her spirit. As much as he irked her, he was one of the only friends she had. She moped up to her dormitory room alone, neither of them attempting to stop her.

When she got to her four-poster bed she drew the curtain, curled up and cried silently into the sheets. Soon the other four beds would fill with four girls who were all great friends and who Hermione knew nothing about, except how loudly they could giggle. Not even reading could console her. She just lay there, heavy with the crushing weight of her loneliness, until she fell asleep.


	3. Chepter 3

Draco sat on his dormitory floor, 500 pins laid out on his regal green sheets. He wearily repeated the charm that would display the devilishly clever logo "Potter Stinks." He knew a Gemino charm could do them all at once, and he had read up on it, but a charm like that was NEWT level and if Draco was being honest with himself he was too scared to try something so difficult lest it go wrong. So there he sat, legs cramping, charming each and every pin. This was his fourth batch.

He consoled himself with the thought of Potter's reaction when he saw them. Perfect Potter; Draco would love to see him humiliate himself in the First Task, though the git would probably pull some hero stunt out of his arse. The thought incensed him. Potter got all the attention, "the hero who had defeated the Dark Lord." Yeah, well, that little episode hadn't done the Malfoys too well. His father was constantly facing scrutiny with the Ministry, the other students distrusted Draco, he knew he would have a hard time finding a job. Blood status was counting for less and less these days. These damn affirmative action programs set up by the Ministry made it easier for Mudbloods to find work, taking it away from people like Draco. And it all came back to Potter. He stopped the Dark Lord. Investigations were made. Public outrage at the systematic murder of Mudbloods. And suddenly people no longer respected his blood. Now all the Malfoys had to rely on was fear, something Lucius never let Draco forget. There was no easy way to the top for him anymore.

Draco rubbed his eyes, gather his pins into a tin, and set them in his drawer just as the sun peaked up. He thought about rousing Crabbe and Goyle, but decided he'd beat them to the shower first. He dressed and headed down to the Great Hall with his friends for a sumptuous meal no where as delicious as his mother could make at home.

"You'll love what I've got in store for the First Task; it's nearly complete," he told them over eggs and bacon, his eyes shining.

"You've been saying that for about half the term already Malfoy," Crabbe began, "I don't see anything yet."

"Yeah well, it's a secret now, isn't it? Wouldn't want to tip off the Gryffindors just yet."

"But maybe if we helped-" Draco cut Goyle off: "I don't need your help! You wouldn't be able to anyway. Took me days of research, and let's face it, boys, you're morons." Now maybe ordinarily, someone might object to be called a moron by their close friend, but Draco had learned from his father's relationship with their fathers that the Crabbe and Goyle families responded best when put in a subservient role. Best not to take responsibility for anything, they assumed, that way if it went wrong they couldn't be blamed. Couldn't be praised either. Maybe that was a mistake Lucius had made, taking too much credit, but when the alternative was rising to the Dark Lord's right hand man, the risk was worth it, even now. Folk like Crabbe and Goyle made great errand runners, and that was very important, thought Draco as his friend mumbled agreement into their breakfast.

When they walked out, a crowd was gathered around the adjacent wall. Curious, Draco pushed his way to the front importantly, "All right everybody, clear off, go on, what's the big deal?" He sauntered up to the memo that had been tacked up with bright ribbons around it. _Blegh, curling ribbon?_ It reminded him of presents from his Great Aunt Sicilene.

The First Task

is scheduled for

10am this Saturday morning

All students are encouraged

to attend and support their champion.

Refreshments available for a small fee.

GOOD LUCK CHAMPIONS

Tacked beneath that was a handwritten note that read "Bets collected this Saturday morning at 9am -W&W." _Oh great_ , Draco sighed to himself. He now had 2000 pins to finish by tomorrow morning. He passed a weary hand over his face. He considered abandoning the project, but he'd already talk it up to Crabbe and Goyle so much, the shame would be too much to bear. Perhaps he could recruit some younger students to do it, but they could never learn the charm necessary. Damn.

Draco straightened his book bag and strutted to class, hiding his growing fatigue with an air of extra superiority.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh Harry, you'll do just fine!" Hermione was pleading with Harry the night before the First Task. He had just told her about the dragons, and she was well aware of how pale she'd gone. "You're a phenomenal wizard, I know you are. You'll figure something out." She looked sharply at Ron for help, but he was currently preoccupied staring at a speck on the wall with an unreasonable amount of malice. She sighed. He'd been like this for awhile, maybe a month; she'd tried talking to him but he always shrugged her off. To be perfectly honest, she was starting to not care very much. As much as she loved her two best friends, they were, at times, the worst couple of narcissists she'd ever met. Ronald with his inferiority complex, as if he was the only one trying to live up to a certain standard? If he'd ever bothered to ask, or maybe glance in her direction, he'd know Hermione had set such high standards for herself and that her parents expected so much out of their "bright little witch" that she never got a full night's sleep. Did he think intelligence sprung from her naturally? She stayed up every night studying, trying to earn her place in the Wizarding world. He could never understand how disadvantaging it was to have no knowledge of the world you're in until you're thrust into it at the age of 11, just when you think you're getting the hang of cursive. Ha, try curses. Much harder. And her parents had no reason to believe she couldn't become a department head in the Ministry by the time she was 20.

Harry rested his head in his hands. "I think I'll go up to the library, just for one more look through."

"But Harry," she protested, "You need a good night's sleep. What do you expect to find that you haven't…" But he was already climbing out the circular hole into the corridor. _Fine, let Filch find him_. Hermione glanced at Ron once more. His face had softened and he started to turn towards her, maybe to apologize, but not likely. She didn't wait; she stalked up the stairs to her room. But she paused on the second to last step, leaned her head on the cool brick wall. _Breathe_ , she told herself _, just relax._ But she was finding that so hard to do lately. Too much was on her mind: OWLs next year, her only two friends becoming increasingly standoffish, her growing problem with acne and the extra weight that was gathering around her midsection, her dropping grades despite hours of late night studying.

"Hey Hermione," Pavarti giggled when she walked in. Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. "Tell me, what can we do to help alleviate the work for house elves."

"Oh...well for starters-"

"Oh Pavarti don't be mean!" Lavender trilled. Hermione saw that they had been snickering over a pile of her pamphlets. Pamphlets that she'd worked on herself instead of researching her paper for Transfiguration. She snatched them up and ran out the door, thinking up a lot of good curses she knew she would never use on them.


	5. Chapter 5

With her hope for peace dashed, at least until she could be sure the others were asleep, Hermione roamed the corridors, her SPEW tin rattling at her side. She was careful to take the paths that were least often patrolled, because she was pretty sure she was breaking curfew. Considering this, she found she really didn't care very much. She slipped a few pamphlets under teachers' doors, then turned into one of the girls' lavatories after hearing clanging down the hall that sounded suspiciously like Peeves in a suit of armor.

Hermione looked up into the mirror, saw her freckled cheeks, her small brown eyes. Not pretty brown like Lavender's, just a solid, plain, mud brown. Her hair piled on top of itself, refusing to come together as a coherent style and simply insisting on a frizzy brown nightmare on top of her long face. Her arms were skinny and weak, but her cheeks were flabby, like someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. Or maybe like someone who was stress-eating while studying. She saw a tear roll down her cheek without feeling it. No amount of magic could make her beautiful. She splashed her face, and then jumped back. At the sound of the faucet, a voice had cried out "Who's there!?" And she wasn't positive but it sounded...like a boy's voice.

"H-Hello?" she called softly. A door creaked openly slowly, then swung fully to reveal, to her shock, Draco Malfoy.

"Granger," he sneered, "What the hell are you doing in the boys' lavatory, and at this hour?" He smirked, "Meeting that slimeball Potter for a midnight snog before tomorrow? Might be the last night you have together."

"Draco! I-I thought.." she mumbled. She had never been so completely at a loss for words. Luckily, Draco never shut up, and this was no exception.

"Yeah, my father and I are real excited for the Task tomorrow. Father was beside himself with glee when he heard that freak Potter was competing. Long history of death, you see, in this tournament. But I'm sure you know that, don't you, you little bookworm?" It didn't sound like a compliment. "Here you go, take one of these." Draco tossed her a pin. Emblazoned in red was "Potter Stinks" and when she pressed it it changed to a green "Support Cedric Diggory."

"Nice to see you support Hufflepuff," she grimaced. Why didn't she just leave already? Then again, she wouldn't want to be caught walking out of a boys' bathroom, especially one with a boy in it.

"Oh I'm real spirited that way," Draco cocked a crooked smile that made him look slightly like an axe murderer, and slightly like a cologne commercial model.

Hermione turned to run away, but Draco lurched forward and grabbed her wrist. "You been crying, Mudblood? What's the matter, huh? Scarhead doesn't think you're special enough for him? Pathetic." She looked up at him in fear. Normally she was about his height, but the way he was gripping her made her shrink down. She thought his pale skin looked blanched, and his eyes were red and puffy. Hermione wondered why he was in here so late, and if she was the only one that had been crying tonight. "Tell anyone you saw me and you'll be dead by morning," he breathed. His breath smelled of peppermint fudge. "Now I've got to go distribute these," he shook his pin box, "To the other Houses before morning." He shoved her away, causing her SPEW pamphlets and pins to scatter. "And give it a rest with the house elf crap, will ya?" He stalked to the door, paused to check for teachers, and then turned back towards her while she gathered her things. For a small fraction of a moment, he looked the way Ron had in the common room, the tension in his pointed face relaxing. Then he swept away with a flurry of his black cloak.


	6. Chapter 6

Seeing Granger had really frazzled Draco. _Frazzled?_ _Who_ am _I?_ he thought, _some goody little Gryffindor brat?_ Anyways, it had pissed him the hell off. He was so distracted by the unexpected company and so drained from staying up all night that he tripped on a suit of armor's foot two hallways down from Ravenclaw Tower after slipping the Potter pins into their delivery box. The resultant commotion resulted in him sprinting down three corridors, around several corners, through three classrooms, and finally hiding in a cabinet that he magicked closed behind him so that no prying eyes could find him.

He checked his watch by the dim light of his wand. Merlin's beard, it had been 37 hours since he'd slept last. He swayed on the spot thinking about it. The inside of the cabinet was nice and cool; he rested his forehead against the hard wood and shut his eyes...He snapped up suddenly, painfully aware that he had almost fallen asleep within a locked cabinet. Peaking out the door, Draco scanned the hall: no one in sight. He inched his way silently down stairs to the Slytherin common room, watching his feet carefully and looking for trick steps on the staircases. He thought of his blissfully warm bed and cool pillows and groaned internally.

But he couldn't stop wondering at why Miss Perfect was sneaking around in the boys' lavatory. _Was_ she meeting Potter? Not likely. Though not impossible. As beloved as he was, Scarhead did have a tendency to break the rules. Unfortunately, it was only Professor Snape that ever _cared_ if the saint got punished. And Granger would never compromise her standing like that. _What a priss._

And yet, if more girls were like her maybe he wouldn't have been hiding there in the first place. Sure, he had to deliver the pins anyway, but he could have done that at a much more reasonable time, and not finished the work from inside the toilets. If Pansy hadn't made a habit of dogging him every time he stepped out of his room he could have finished in there without arousing too much suspicion. This particular night she had deliberately waited up in the common room for him to go to bed, at which time she would prompt him to follow her up to _her_ room instead. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered it (I mean come on, he was in the midst of puberty) but the thought was too sickening. She was pathetic, power hungry, trying to get in Draco's good books because he had a powerful father. She disgraced the House name by trying to sleep her way to the top; I mean for God's sakes, leave something to the imagination. Her new favorite hobby was pulling down her shirt and asking Draco coyly if he could see her bra through the fabric. The thought made him gag.

He couldn't risk being in his room tonight, when he was already stretched so thin. The guys might see him and laugh; Pansy might see him and try to help; _Blaise_ might see him and...Draco had always looked up to him, he couldn't stand it if Blaise saw him...if he knew...Draco sighed. "If they saw me crying like that," he whispered to himself, shaking back the familiar prickling in his red eyes. He could only pray the Mudblood hadn't noticed. She seemed pretty choked up herself actually. Probably on account of being the foulest thing short of Pansy Parkinson at this school. Draco usually liked insulting Granger. It cheered him up to know he was so much better than someone (he pointedly ignored classroom marks). But tonight his heart wasn't in it. He was too thrown by their encounter. It was bothering him more than it should but, he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Perhaps he hadn't heard right. Perhaps she was just scared and misspoke. Perhaps he was scared and misheard. But the more he fretted, the more certain he became. _She had called him Draco._


	7. Chapter 7

When he finally got to the dormitory, he slid off his cloak and climbed into bed in one fell swoop. He heard something rattle as his robe fell, but he was far beyond too tired to care. Draco reached his hand under his cool, soft pillow and felt a slip of parchment in his fingers. _Damn it, can't I ever just sleep?_ he thought groggily. He lit the candle on his nightstand, next to the picture of his mother. Draco had sustained some teasing for that photo, but that was a point he would never concede; the photo stayed no matter what they thought. The note, illuminated from behind, read: "Draco, sweetie, I noticed you didn't come back to the common room and since you're still not here, I wanted to wish you a good night and good luck on the mischief I know you're up to, you bad boy ;)" _Gross._ It was signed "your naughty girl" _Disgusting._ He might've actually wretched if he'd been any more awake. His last thought before falling asleep was that Pansy really wasn't too bad looking if she would just stop shoving it in people's faces.

Draco woke the next morning no where near fully recovered but with just enough sleep combined with just enough anticipation to go watch the First Task and see the reaction to the pins he'd worked so hard on. He grabbed his robe off the floor and a tin tumbled out of the pocket to the ground, spilling open. He picked up a pin, bemused. It was shiny and round, with red letter that spelled out "Potter Stinks." His pin. But he had only made enough for each House...had he forgotten a stop in his late night stupor? Surely not.

He walked uneasily out of the dormitory, and was greeted by resounding applause in the common room, a wave of red greeting him, pinned to each persons chest. In unison, they pressed on them and the green "Support Cedric Diggory" slogan flashed. Draco couldn't help it; his pointed face beamed with pride. Blaise clapped him on the back and told him job well done, and Draco thought he could go another few days without sleep if he could do it all again. This was what he lived for. The pride, the adrenaline, the hard work paid off, the _confirmation_ of his worth. Pride in oneself is dandy but when an entire room of your peers chants your name and tells you that what you've done is worthwhile and valuable and sought after...Draco couldn't think of a singular better feeling. He sauntered out with his group of friends to the grounds to watch the games, and Draco's spirits were so high, he placed a 3 Galleon bet on Krum as the winner.

_Whatever_ , Draco grumbled several hours later, as he sat studying in the library. Pansy sat across from him peering at him over her book, in a way she obviously thought was subtle, and might have been had he been a blind and deaf mountain troll. _These games are infantile anyways. Who wants to see people nearly ripped to shreds by a dragon? That's barbaric. An arcane obsession with violence and physical strength._ He would like to say Fleur was the best for her lack of brute force in the matter, but she had been pretty abysmal at her wandwork and he had to appreciate that it _was_ a tournament for magic.

He was out three Galleons and a chunk of pride after loser-Potter's victory, but that wasn't even the worst part. Draco finished up his sketch of a dragon biting Potter's head, and charmed it into action, smirking. After the task, Padma Patil, from Ravenclaw, had approached Draco, handing him back his tin. He'd noticed few Ravenclaws were wearing them. He had angrily demanded why she didn't at least distribute them and let her housemates decide for themselves, but she had shoved the tin back at him saying, "No, really, I did. About 4 people were interested. I didn't know you were such a social justice warrior." She was blushing, like the idea was embarrassing to even consider.

"Social what?" he had raged. He opened the tin and his stomach plummet. 500 hand made pins with the logo SPEW painted across them, in all different colors. "What the bloody hell is _spew?!"_ Unfortunately, someone explained it to him. Some boy, wearing the stupid pin, like he was the most morally sound person that Hogwarts had ever been gifted. He had spoken to Draco in a soft, condescending tone. "You see, friend, our brethren the house elves, who cook and clean for us here at Hogwarts, aren't getting fair treatment. They work 20 or more hours a day with no pay. There are even" he faked a shudder ( _what a prat, my god),_ "some families who keep them in their homes as personal slaves! Can you believe that?" Draco, aware that he was now the poster child, to the Ravenclaws' at least, of this ridiculous organization, had hexed the boy and stormed off.

Luny Lovegood had stopped him by floating quickly in his direction and caressing his arm, little fucking creep. "Those are Hermione Granger's, actually. She's quite a nice person, I'm happy to see she's broadening her horizons," she had sang into his ear, "Would you like me to return them to her for you?" Draco had pointedly refused, continued his tirade toward the castle, and now here he was, pretending to study and trying to think up a way he could give Granger back her bloody pins without actually looking at her or talking to her. He considered just chucking them, but was restrained by the image of her swollen eyes in the bathroom, puffy from lack of sleep. He knew the feeling too keenly to not return her work. Besides, that was a House trait right? Hard work. Even if it wasn't the work of a fellow Slytherin, it was still to be admired. _Even by a Mudblood in some cases_ , he supposed.

"Draaaco?" Pansy drawled. She looked nice today. Her cloak was covering her usually alarming amount of cleavage and she had decided to brush her hair this morning, in the spirit of the tournament, he guessed. She usually tried for some messy grunge look that came off as "I'm homeless, but I found out I'm magic so I got this robe and some eyeliner." She had sparkly earrings too, which Draco always admired on women. Earrings made a girl seem so dainty and feminine, so traditionally girly. He liked it. Whatever. No big deal.

"Draco, do you think that Beauxbatons girl, Fleur Delacour is pretty?" she whined.

"Well, yeah, Pansy, she's part veela isn't she?"

"Oh I think that's just a stupid rumor," she pouted. "Made up by boys who can't control themselves. But you aren't that shallow, I know it." She tilted her head down and fluttered her eyelashes up at him. She was rather pretty, but moves like that made him hate her. How could he enjoy the chase if she just lied limp in front of him for the taking? "Is...is she prettier than me?"

Good lord, this woman. Get _over_ yourself. "Look, you shouldn't compare yourself to her alright?" he tried to say it in a gentle way but he thought it sounded a bit forced.

Pansy looked struck. "Why? Why because she's so miles beyond me that nothing I do could live up to her?"

"Merlin, no! Because you two are completely different! What criteria are you even-" Madam Pince gave Draco a severe look, but Pansy cut across him anyway.

"Give it a rest, you prat! You never cared about me!" she stormed out of the library, leaving a confused and slightly offended Draco behind.


	8. Chapter 8

A week later, Hermione could be found window shopping and sharing a butterbeer with Ginny Weasley in Hogsmeade. While she found Ginny's company a pleasant change from Ron and Harry, she still found herself struggling to keep up with rapid Quidditch commentary from her red headed friend. Ginny was taller than Hermione now, despite being a year younger, and her face was beginning to narrow into a more adult shape. Hermione self consciously rubbed her round cheeks.

"I'm telling you, it was amazing! I mean you saw him at the World Cup, how he just dived straight for the ground and _wham_ pulled up out of nowhere!" Ginny was chattering excitedly. "Ha, Harry _wishes_ he could pull off a Wronski Feignt like that."

"Mm," Hermione agreed uselessly. "Well, Krum is a professional though, right?"

"Still, he's only 17. I mean, obviously, him being in the tournament and all. I can't imagine having accomplished so much so young. And he's _hot._ "

"He's a bit too old, don't you think?"

"Maybe for me," Ginny nodded, "But he spends quite some time in the library and not quite so much time studying I've noticed." She arched her eyebrow at Hermione. She could feel all the blood in her body rushing to her face.

"Oh, please, Ginny. _Me_?"

"Hey I'm not saying he's right in the head." _Harsh_ , Hermione thought, _but honest._ "But maybe you're his type. Just like rugged pro-Quidditch players are my type."

"Well, you can have him! I'm not exactly looking for a Bulgarian boyfriend." Hermione laughed. Her hand instinctively moved to her pocket, where she clenched a grimy, handwritten note. She didn't know why she was carrying it around, except that she knew the girls in her room absolutely could _not_ find it. She didn't even know how she should respond...

"What, did you fart or something? Ginny asked.

Hermione burst out laughing, her hand falling back down to her side. "What? No!"

"Well why'd you get all quiet, then?" Ginny giggled. It was much less annoying when she did it. She was too tough to ever be called silly. Hermione loved her like the sister she never had, but sometimes she felt like Ginny was the older sister. Tough, inspiring, brave.

"I guess I was just thinking about boys," her voice wavered and she cursed herself internally.

"Oh god, 'mione, listen. If you come anywhere near getting the chance to snog Krum, _do it._ Do it for me. If I can't, you _have_ to. The devil with Ron, just do it." Ginny pleaded.

Hermione was bemused, "Ron?" Ginny just shook her head disbelieving and walked on towards the castle. The snow was starting to come down so Hermione rushed ahead with her, a bushy mane of brown whipping around from under her cap.

When they got back to the castle, a notice was pinned up in the Great Hall. Hermine quickly skimmed it and groaned. _A dance?_ Ginny was bright eyed and enthusiastic of course. Hermione watched her face fall as she kept reading. "Fourth years and up?" she read aloud, "But..oh that is just so predictable! I never get to do anything fun!" She actually stamped her foot, and Hermione stifled a laugh, she looked so childish.

"You could ask an older boy to take you?" she suggested. "Maybe Dean Thomas?"

"Oh barf, no thank you." Hermione just shrugged in response. A quick shuffling in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She looked over, and a small figure was wedging its way behind a portrait of a pear in the corridor that lead to the Hufflepuff common room. Hermione drifted towards it, cocking her head. So that's where the house elves go. Interesting. Immediately, her mind was going a hundred miles an hour with plans for rallies, meetings, protests; Hermione had been delighted by the new membership of several Ravenclaws to her cause. That just proved that S.P.E.W was the smart thing to do. However, the Ravenclaws made her remember the note in her pocket and her stomach contracted. It looked like her first meeting would be tonight, and it wouldn't be with them.

When she got up to her room, she puled the curtain around her bed and lit her wand. _So much safer than candles_ , she thought praisingly. Magic was wonderful, wasn't it? She unfolded the note, despite having memorized it a week ago. "Meet me back there next Saturday after dark. I have something for you." She had found it sitting in the bottom of her cauldron in Potions. Potions that they shared with the Slytherins. She had looked up to see a sleek blond head disappearing through the entryway.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione's hands shook as she walked down the dark corridor towards the mens' room. _This isn't happening, this isn't happening,_ she repeated to herself, over and over. She tripped over her own feet more than once and almost forgot to skip the second step from the top of the staircase, which would have gotten her wonderfully stuck. _What am I doing?_

When she reached the door she hesitated. She couldn't just knowingly walk into the mens' lavatory. I mean, it was bad enough she was out after curfew. The first time was an accident but this, this was different. She stood there, frozen with indecision until the sound of approaching footsteps scared her out of her reverie. She ducked behind a curtain-like just a curtain, no window behind it, someone had just hung up a curtain on the wall because what else would a wizarding school do with a curtain. _Wizards. What the hell is wrong with wizards?_ She held her breath as a shadow passed over her, resounding footsteps just inches from her hiding place.

She heard an exasperated sigh, not three feet from her. "Granger, tell me you are not behind this curtain for the love of Merlin."

Hermione squeaked in surprise. "Oh," she said, stepping out from behind the curtain, "Oh, no, just, um, checking out the decor..." she trailed off miserably. He shook his head in disbelief, and tugged her sleeve toward the bathroom door, letting go immediately.

"Loony says this is yours." He jutted a tin towards her.

"My pins!" she almost forgot to keep her voice down. "Oh thank goodness! How...How did you get these?" She was suddenly suspicious.

He scowled, "Must've mixed them up, you know, at our last meeting. Now all the Ravenclaws think I'm some smarmy elf-lover. So thanks for that."

Hermione thought meeting was a strange word to use for their accidental encounter. However, she realized with a knot in her stomach, _this_ was a meeting. What would the boys say?

"Why do you bother with this?" he continued.

"Why bother asking? We all know how sorely you miss Dobby." she snapped. "I'm sure now your mommy does all the work, right? No help from you or your glorious father?"

"I do miss Dobby, actually." he mumbled, then asked, "You know Dobby? How?"

"Do you think Harry and I never talk to each other? Draco, Dobby's been visiting us for two years."

"He-He visits you guys? Like, what, as friends?"

"Believe it or not, yes." she said coldly.

"Look I brought you your stupid pins, quit acting so frigid." _So frigid? We hate each other!_

"Do you even know my first name?" she scowled. "Here's a hint: it's not Mudblood."

He rolled his eyes, "I don't have time for this." But he didn't leave. He just stood there staring at her, his gray eyes illuminated despite the low light. As if they had taken all the luminosity in the room and focused it into the penetrating look he was now giving her; looking straight into her soul. She shuddered despite herself but didn't back away. "Dobby's the only one that wants freedom though, right?" The malice had slipped out of his voice. He slid to the floor, back against the wall.

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione followed him. Sitting side by side, it was easier to talk openly and ignore the years of bickering and pranks. "Right now it seems that way," she sighed, "But I think if we just give them a chance to see what freedom is like, they'd be much happier. They're scared is all; they've been oppressed so long it's all they know. All they can possibly _conceive_." She felt sickened.

"We were so terrible that he...that he's the only house elf to ever want to be free." His voice sounded hollow, all his usual theatrics gone. "Of all the families out there, for millennia, we're the only ones who were so despised that our own _elf_ couldn't stand us."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She sat there idly fingering a pin. Almost subconsciously, she slipped it into his hand, lying open on the cement floor. His skin was cold. She noticed again how very tired he looked and a strange, icy pity spread through her for this boy beside her. So much could be different had it not been for his toxic upbringing.

His hand closed around the pin and he slid it in to his cloak pocket. His hands shook as he brought them to his forehead to smooth back his white-blond hair. " _What is going on."_ He whispered so quietly Hermione wasn't even sure she heard it, though she'd certainly like an answer.

For a few minutes, Draco sat with his head in his hands and Hermione's eyebrows came together in worry. It didn't really matter who it was, it was unnerving to see someone so upset. Almost like she could see the turmoil mixing inside his slender white body. Even if the person was a fascist like the Malfoys. Even if her best friends hated him. _And I hate him_ , she reminded herself. No matter his upbringing, his words were his own, and they had stung her more than once before. She wasn't such a fool that she'd go running back for more like a hurt puppy, eager to please. Then Draco stood uneasily, crossed to the door in three long strides and stood with his hand on the knob. He turned his head barely, not enough to see her but enough so that his voice could carry back. "Good luck with your club, Gr-" he cleared his throat and said, in a strained but clear voice, "Hermione."


	10. Chapter 10

Hermoine was getting real sick of crying. It was like the prickle in her eyes was a part of her now, like she lived among onions. Suffice to say, her meeting had not gone well in the kitchens.

She had tried to rally the house elves, and they had thrown her out on her butt. Couldn't they see all she wanted was to help? She moped up to the library, wiping her face on her sleeve. She wished Ron and Harry were here to distract her, but they were out flying, enjoying their time outside of class, and not trying to raise any civil rebellions. She sat down to study and was surprised to see Draco across the hall, his eyebrows knit together as he read from a thick volume. Hermione scrunched up her eyes to read "A History of Servitude." She blinked. She had checked it out herself weeks prior; it had the most detail on house elf enslavement she could find. He looked distraught reading it, but he usually looked distraught, she mused. He glanced up, saw her. She meant to turn her head away so as not to be caught spying, but she was rooted to the spot. His eyes met hers briefly and the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly; he nodded to her almost imperceptibly. Then went back to reading. Hermione just sat there, nonplussed.

She was entirely less surprised to find Viktor Krum lurking around her usual table. She thought _lurk_ was a pretty good word for it, with his slouched shoulders and deep-set eyes. She could see what Ginny saw in him, but Hermione, personally, found there to be something lacking in him. Still, he was rather nice to look at. She sheepishly half-glanced back at Draco, not sure why she cared if he saw, then sat down a few chairs down from Viktor. He peeked up at her from atop an upside-down book he had hastily grabbed and purred in his thick accent, "Afternoon, miss."

Hermione was surprised to feel herself blush, "Uh, afternoon." she squeaked out.

"I have seen you here very often" he murmured with a cautious glance at Madame Pince, "And yet, I don't think you need the studying. I hear you are very gifted."

"I work hard, that's all," she began her usual response, but cut off when she realized he was...flirting? "But thank you," she added hastily. "Harry and my friend, Ron, they tell me every day about how skilled _you_ are." She tried to interject a note of flattery, but found herself glancing over to check on Draco. He was checking out _A History of Servitude_ and leaving. She breathed in relief. "I saw you at the World Cup, I loved that, er, Wonky Faint."

He smiled ruefully; she knew she sounded like the doting admirers around every corner; in Hermione's own dormitory. She mentally screamed at herself until he spoke up: "And you and Harry are...friends? Or, is there more?"

"Oh, no," she laughed, "No Harry's a brilliant friend and an excellent wizard, but no, No. He's like a brother. Including the annoying bits." She smiled fondly, remembering him spilling ink on her papers, and throwing paper airplanes at her, him and Ron thinking up "clever" ways to prank her and her pretending to fall for it just to see their lit up faces. She knew they only had optimism for so much longer; bad forces were stirring out there.

"What is wrong?" he looked at her expression, concerned.

"Oh, nothing. Just...these Tasks. They're dangerous, you know? I worry."

He grunted. "Harry is very lucky to have a friend like you. I would count myself lucky to become your friend...but not a brother-friend, I think." He smiled. It looked out of place on his sultry face, but she smiled back nonetheless. This was a whole new world for her. She felt herself flush.

"Oh," was all she could come up with, but luckily she was able to keep _down_ the sudden fluttering that threatened to manifest as vomit. She thought that might be unladylike. Luckily, Karkaroff came stalking in and said something in a reproachful Slavic language. Krum nodded and leaned in to Hermione, "I am sorry, but Karkaroff believes I must prepare for the Second Task elsewhere. I hope I will see you soon." The he did the most ridiculous thing, she almost would've laughed if she weren't so mortified. He took her hand and kissed it gently before shuffling out. Karkaroff cast her a disgusted look, then followed his student out.

Hermione took a shaky breath. _Wow, okay._ This was a whole new arena. She couldn't study this in books. _Though I can try_ , she glanced at the Personal section of the library, but she could never check out something like that with Madame Pince staring her down. Hermione tilted her wrist in just the right way so that she could see a translucent reflection of herself, just to make sure she was still buck-toothed, bushy-haired, and freckled. Yep, still ugly. Krum could've fooled her. _Wow._

She left the library after about 15 minutes of completely useless reading. The words came in and walked right out of her head; all she could think about was deep set eyes, slouched shoulders...then: pale, piercing looks and a slim, proud figure. She blushed a walked out.

And then Draco grabbed her by the elbow. _Oh look, a pale, piercing look,_ she thought ruefully. "Have you been...waiting out here?"

He glanced down, "Yeah, a bit."

She was more than a little suspicious, and didn't respond until he asked, "Heading back to the common room?"

"Um, yeah. I mean, _my_ common room."

He nodded distractedly, "I'll walk you."

Hermione pulled away as he started walking towards Gryffindor Tower. "Do you really think there's a precedent for that?" she asked, shocked.

Draco turned reluctantly. "This _is_ the precedent, Granger. Let's go."

Hermione followed, wondering blithely if she had maybe slipped into someone else's life. Like maybe Alice, as in Wonderland.

She looked over at him, walking beside her. His usually rigid back was relaxed, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. _What the bloody hell is going on?_ She glanced around nervously, expecting to see fellow Gryffindors, but everyone was out enjoying the rather warm winter day. Hermione shivered.

"Tell me about house elves." It sounded more like a command than a request, but in a voice so small and polite she didn't mind. Her defenses wavered and she mentally shook herself.

"What do you want to know?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said simply.

She took an uneasy breath and cleared her throat. Her voice still wavered when she said, "Well, they prefer to be known just as elves, not house elves. Or at least they _would_ prefer it if they weren't brainwashed. They actually have a long line of ancestry in mountain and caves." She voice strengthened. "The earliest account of an elf being used as an indentured servant dates back to 860 AD when Elanis of Shalatula hired on one as an in-home nurse and helper; she had pretty bad arthritis." Draco smiled as Hermione continued on, moving forward from 860 AD a decade at a time. He didn't interrupt until they passed the 5th floor statue of Etherald the Unready.

"Your hair would look nice slicked back," he stated.

Hermione stopped mid-sentence. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, I really am listening. How you remember all that is beyond me, I have to cram for every test," he gave a short laugh, more of a syllable of humor, "But your hair keeps flying around, and you never even tie it up. You braid it sometimes," he cracked the smallest of smiles, "But I think it would look nice slicked back."

"I think I don't need a slimy git telling me how to look." Hermione was completely out of her reverie on elves now. "What, you think my hair should be more like yours? Greased from root to tip?" She smoothed it self-consciously, and immediately stopped herself.

A look of pain crossed Draco's face. "No," he practically croaked, "No, please. Ugh, Hermione this is hard. I like your hair."

"When did you start calling me Hermione?"

"When did you start calling me Draco?"

She blushed and kept walking. "I've never really _called_ you anything. I'm usually in the background of yours and the boys' arguments. In my mind," her voice halted, "In my mind you've always been Draco."

"I heard you know how to do a Gemino Charm. Is that true?"

"Who's running the station in charge of your train of thought?!" she laughed. She immediately sobered; that sounded too much like something she'd say to Ron. He just stared at her. "Yeah, yeah I can." she mumbled.

His pale eyes widened. "That's incredible. Would've saved me so much time with...well, never mind. You're unbelievable."

"This conversation is unbelievable." she stammered. Hermione cursed her shy self.

"Exactly the point I was getting to." He clapped his hands, once. This time she was silent.

"Hermione, do you know what a Dark Mark is?" Her stomach plummeted, her face falling. Her thoughts flew: _Draco was at the World Cup, Draco put Harry's name in, Draco is a Death Eater, Draco-_

"Whoa whoa!" He looked alarmed, "Bad phrasing, my bad. What I mean is, they work as a means of communication."

"Yeah..."

"And if you could charm, say, a journal, then we could exchange messages in private. Similar concept."

She didn't love the comparison. "And why would we be exchanging messages in private?"

Draco just shrugged. "You want me in your club or not?"

She actually laughed at that. He spoke again, softer, like his voice had lost all it's edges in that moment, "I just want to have a friend to talk to, Hermione."

Her laugh turned into the tiniest of gasps. "Draco...? Is everything alright?"

He turned his head, someone was coming down the hall around the corner. They were standing outside the portrait hole of the Fat Lady now. "It will be," he whispered, "If you say yes."

She gave a wry, confused smile, her eyebrows crinkling in the center. "Have you ever heard of a cell phone?" Draco looked bemused but she shooed him away before the approaching Gryffindors rounded the corner. It was Dean and Seamus. They weren't exactly her friends, _(who was, really?)_ but they looked concerned for her.

"Malfoy giving you trouble?" Dean asked. He was Muggle-born, too.

"Yeah, but don't worry. I scared him off." She smiled to herself and climbed through the portrait hole.


	11. Chapter 11

_Has Potter figured out the precious clue yet?_ She rolled her eyes; she could hear his smirk.

Harry _has almost cracked it...I hope._

_Second Task is in 5 days, 'mione._

_Thanks for the update, ferret._

_Hey now, I could just as easily call you a beaver with those teeth._

_Oh lord, Draco, beaver means something completely different in the Muggle world. Please no._

_Not my business to learn Muggle innuendos._

Him again: _The Yule Ball is coming up._

_Draco, you know we couldn't._

_I never said I wanted to!_

_Just friends?_

_Just friends. Hermione, your friendship means so much. Really. I think I'll ask Pansy, if you approve?_

_As long as you approve of Krum?_

_Merlin,_ I'd _go with him if he'd only asked me._ Hermione laughed aloud. In Charms class. She blushed bright red and went back to her notes. Two days after their exchange in the hall, Hermione had found a handsome eagle owl perched on her dormitory window. He held a marbled notebook, which sometimes looked silver and green and sometimes decided it was gold and red. She suppressed a smile. This new friendship was something she never would have imagined, but Draco was so bold about it all that she hardly remembered it was taboo and her biggest (and only) secret from Harry and Ron. She didn't consider Viktor a secret. She had told them; it wasn't her fault they didn't believe her.

Hermione's cheeks pinked a bit as she thought about her new friend. She'd never had someone tell her so plainly that she meant something to them. She wondered why she'd never seen how kind Draco was. His act was so transparent; the abused boy seeking confirmation from his peers through bullying. A classic. Her poor Draco. She knew she was very possessive with him, but she didn't care. After 14 years, Hermione had a friend she could tell anything to. She wasn't about to let go. _Her_ friend. _And it's not romantic_ , she told herself firmly. She couldn't risk that. Just look at Lavender's past romances. She would go to the ball with Krum, enjoy herself, and not worry about Pansy's sure-to-be sexy dress. Anything Pansy did was sexy; she didn't have to dress that way, too. It just wasn't fair.

"So who are you going to the ball with?" Ron whispered, for the ump-teenth time.

"Viktor Krum," she stated simply.

"Come _on_ , Hermione. Who really?" he whined.

"Okay, okay. Draco Malfoy."

Ron and Harry laughed so hard Professor Flitwick threatened to take 5 points from Gryffindor.

_Still studying?_ he scrawled.

_Unless you know a way to breathe underwater for an hour?_

_You know I'm looking._

_I know...thank you. I'm sure Harry would thank you, too, if he knew._

_Fat chance._

_You'd like him!_

_Obese chance._

_Your hatred is just a matter of situation. You're very similar, actually._

_I'm smarter though._

_Yeah, you're smarmier though._

_Oh very clever. Well done._ His writing dripped with sarcasm.

She smiled down at her notebook. _I should get back to studying..._

_It's midnight, what do you hope to find?_

_Something magical. Hang on...McGonagall wants to see me, I guess. I'll let you know in the morning. You need sleep. I didn't charm your pins just so you could lose sleep on other useless things._

_I'm offended! Talking to the brightest witch in the school is hardly useless. That's my friend you're talking about._

_Goodnight, Draco._

_Goodnight, 'mione._

 

_Meet me in the bathroom NOW._

_Draco, it's the middle of the day! Someone might see!_

_I don't bloody CARE!_

Hermione nervously walked in, and was assaulted at once by a black form surrounding her. It took a moment to realize Draco was hugging her. His eyes were red and he was whispering while he stroked her wet hair. "I thought you were dead down there, Hermione. I thought I lost you. You- you never wrote back this morning and I just don't know what I would do. Oh, Hermione!"

"Draco, you're crushing me! I'm fine, look!" He stepped back, appraising her.

He cocked a smile. He had goofy smiles when he wasn't being all serious and Malfoy-ish. "Surely not...You sure they didn't do anything?" She looked at him, waiting for the punch line. "Surely your teeth were not _that_ large before." He laughed and she smacked his head.

"I'm sorry Hermione. I just had to see you," he glanced down.

"It's alright. I...I like seeing you." His eyes glittered at her words and his smile widened, still looking down.

"The dance is tomorrow, you know. I think I should wash the beetles out of my hair." Hermione shook out her hair.

"Might take you a few days to find them in that jungle," he laughed.

"Well we can't all have greasy blonde hair like you, Draco," she smiled. "I'm going to go shower. I'm sure Viktor will be looking for me soon."

"I don't know how I feel about you being his favorite, you know."

"Well it's not like he has many options here," she said.

"True...but there's enough options that he doesn't have to go after my favorite." He smiled sheepishly. "This is harder in person."

"Draco Malfoy, I cannot believe you are flirting with a Mudblood."

"Dont-don't say that, 'mione, please," his smile came crashing down.

"Look, I've never heard it before coming here. I doesn't offend me like you think it does. I know it's not _nice_ but-"

" _Not nice?_ " he asked incredulously. "And by the way, I am not flirting!"

She grinned, "Late response, much? Now I'm going to shower."

He hugged her once more, his mouth to her ear. "Don't drown."

"I'll try my best," she laughed.


	12. Chapter 12

_What are you wearing?_ he scribbled.

_Prat._

_Just curious! Krum's in for a treat.  
_

_Draco, you've seen me. You know I'm no treat._

He didn't respond right away.

_Sometimes pretzels are better than fudge, Hermione._

Hermione stared at the page, her left hand twisted up in hair and goo. Her cheeks were pink and her breathing flustered. She couldn't get a stupid grin off her face. Draco complimented her a lot: on her brains, on her accomplishments, on her snappy comebacks. But she had, until now, felt like that's what friends- _real friends_ \- just did for each other. She complimented him all the time, too.

But _that_.

Lavender barged in to the bathroom, and Hermione snatched her journal, covering it with gel and ruining her hair simultaneously. "Ooohh, wasamatter Hermione? Mama never taught you how to break a boy's heart?" She pouted her lips in the mirror and slathered them with lip gloss. "You should really have done a practice run with that stuff. Ha. Dean's not gonna know what hit him."

Hermione had actually done two practice runs, once with Ginny's help and once without. But it was all going wrong today, nothing would curl in the right direction and it looked far too shiny.

She pushed her way out of the bathroom, not wanting to deal with this right now. She ended up plopped down on Ginny's bed having her hair fixed by her only girl friend. She felt guilty that she had put Ginny's own preparation on hold, but that girl was so gorgeous she could walk in wearing Ronald's dress robes and still be the belle of the ball. Hermione giggled. _Ronald's dress robes._

 

Draco stared down at his own writing: _Sometimes pretzels are better than fudge, Hermione._

Answer. Answer, woman! _Oh lord what have I done? Way too far, Draco. Merlin's beard._

He unsmoothed and resmoothed his hair, pacing the floor of his underwater dormitory. A strand of seaweed drifted by the window. His dark green dress robes were laid out on the bed. With a heavy sigh, he put them on. Pansy would be up any minute to ask his opinion on her dress, which would inevitably be far too gaudy. He sat on his bed, then leaned back and spread his upper body out while his feet hung off, kicking them idly and staring at the ceiling. He wondered what Hermione was doing. He wondered what his mother was doing. How was she, all alone in the manor? And without Dobby.

Dobby. Dobby had read Draco stories, had tucked him in on several occasions, had made him breakfast and packed his lunches. Dobby folded his robes and fluffed his pillows. He sighed. He guessed Dobby still _did_ fluff his pillows; Hermione had told him he was hired by the school.

Pansy knocked softly on the door, surprising Draco with the gentleness and breaking his reverie. "Come in," he smoothed his hair back and sat up.

She was wearing a knee-length dress with a black corset laced in the front as the top, and a dark green velvet skirt to match his robes. Ribbons entwined themselves up and down the ensemble, her dark hair mirroring them in soft curls that draped her bare shoulders. She wore no jewelry, and her neck was bare and soft above her padded, but still mesmerizing, chest. Her makeup was dark but not distasteful, with heavily done eyeshadow, but her face wore a look of extreme apprehension. "Do I look okay, Draco?" Her voice wavered just slightly at the end.

"Pans...wow. You look great, seriously. I feel under dressed next to you."

She beamed and took his arm, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. "I can't wait! Oh, Draco _thank you_ for taking me!"

"My pleasure," he smiled, "Let's go." They turned and left, leaving his marbled journal sitting unnoticed on his nightstand.

 

Viktor picked up Hermione a half hour before the dance was to start, so that they could meet everyone and then arrange the dance for the champions and their dates. She twirled her periwinkle skirt around her ankles as he gazed down at her, listing off every feature of her face and claiming it was the most beautiful. "Now, my flower, are you ready to go in?" he breathed. She merely whined an affirmation.

They turned the corner to descend the staircase, and everyone's faced slowly turned to them. The famed Viktor Krum, winner of the Quidditch World Cup, and his date: that bookish girl that dotes along with Harry Potter. She spotted Harry and Ron with their dates, but they didn't glance at her. It seemed the boys had eyes only for Krum. Oh well. She'd ask them to come dance with her later. She noticed Fleur with a boy Hermione didn't recognize, Ginny, watching with glowing pride as Hermione didn't trip down the stairs even once in her new heels. Ginny was with Neville, which Hermione thought was sweet. He looked ecstatic. Further into the room were Cedric and Cho Chang, too busy with each other to notice much else; Crabbe and Goyle could be with their backs to her, talking to two Slytherin girls. And beside them...beside them, Draco with Pansy Parkinson. Both in green. Hermione noticed Viktor's red cape didn't quite match her blue dress.

Pansy looked good. Like, way too good for someone Hermione's own age. She could have passed for a sixth year, at least. And Draco. Her dear friend. Tall, proud, a smile playing at his pale lips, he looked like a successful salesmen out for a drink with his mates. He looked ravishable. _Ravishing!_ she corrected in her mind. Pansy shrieked a laugh at something Goyle had said, and Viktor led Hermione to the hall. They sat down at one of the beautifully decorated tables and he went to get her a glass of punch. She hurriedly reached into her bag, and pulled out her journal, which she had shrunken for the occasion. First year charm, very simple really. The hard part was getting the handwriting to come across normal on the other end, instead of huge. _You look lovely, Draco._ she wrote, then stared at it until she saw Viktor returning, and stashed it away. No response. She tried to smile at her date but the weight of her anxiety over the journal tugged down her lips.

Viktor furrowed his brow, brushed a large finger over her jawline, and stooped to kiss her. It was a soft kiss, on the lips. She blushed, her cheeks matching his cape. "Herm-own-ninny, you are beautiful tonight more than ever. May I have your hand in this dance?"

The dance was, of course, required for them, but she beamed none the less, agreed, and they set up with his hand on her waist and her on is shoulder as the champions filed in around them. Harry looked adorable in his robes; they seemed to match Draco's. she realized with delight. _I'm sure they'd just love that._ However, the look on his face, one of sheer terror and anxiety, ruined the effect the color had on him for the moment. He looked her way, but his eyes didn't take hold as he scanned the room, probably looking for Ron. Or looking to avoid Ron, as he was likely humiliated by this showcasing of his dance moves. "You look for Harry much more than for me, you know," Viktor told her as they began dancing. Colors swirled behind his head as she twirled.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just, he's my friend."

"He does not recognize you tonight, my flower. What friend is that?"

"They-him and Ron-just don't usually see me this way."

"Vell, I have alvays seen you this way. You do not need the dress and the makeup to impress me."

"Thank you, Viktor. That means a lot," and it really did. No one had told her things like that before this month. Probably the best month of her life, except that time the alley cat she had been feeding turned into a woman and told her she was a witch. That was pretty cool, too.

She stopped worrying about Harry and lost herself in dancing. After the formal Champions' Dance the Weird Sisters came out, much to the crowd's delight, and began a popular punk rock song. Hermione didn't know the words, but she waved her arms around with everyone else, feeling just a little bit silly. Viktor twirled her around and she found a confidence in herself she hadn't expected anywhere outside of a classroom. She tentatively began swaying her hips, and then-let's face it-her _butt_ to the music, moving around the room with only a very minor amount of collisions.

After four songs, she was completely exhausted, and Viktor steered her to a table then left to get drinks. Her eyes brightened when she saw Harry and Ron sitting there with their dates. "Hi guys!" she beamed, "Lovely night isn't it?"

Ron looked like he had been slapped across the face, "Hermione! You came here with _Viktor?_ "

"Did I not tell you that?" she smiled innocently.

"How could you, Hermione Bloody Granger, be so _stupid?"_

" _Excuse me?"_ she shrieked. Viktor was on his back from across the room.

"He's obviously trying to pick out Harry's weaknesses, and you're just feeding them to him!"

"How dare you, Ronald! For your information, he hasn't mentioned Harry once all night!" Harry looked rather awkward between them, but no where close to as humiliated as their dates, Padma and Pavarti. Normally, Pavarti being so put out on the one dance Hogwarts ever had might make Hermione vengefully happy, but Ron had left her hot in the face and cold in the heart.

Viktor stepped up, "For you, my flower," he handed her the cup and she drank, trying to calm herself. Then she reached up to his strong jaw and kissed him as Lavendar-ish as she could manage and stormed away, his hand in tow.

She was still too tired to dance, so they sat at a table with some Beauxbatons students on the opposite side of the hall. "I'm sorry about that, Viktor, I just..Ron said some things."

"Then I think I should thank him."

She was confused for a half-moment, then remembered the kiss, "Oh, no, I..." she fumbled with her words, fighting to keep them from saying something rude. Hermione sometimes struggled with being rude. She lapsed into silence.

 

Draco was at the snack table, getting a cup of candies for him and Pansy. He wasn't much for dancing, so he was taking is time. He smiled down at the bowl of pretzels. Hermione. Gingerly, he picked one up and put it to his mouth. God, she was beautiful. She had slicked back her hair, much to his delight. He was very right about it looking good that way. And that long blue dress made her plain brown hair and eyes shimmer. Her faced glowed with such a fierce, soft, luminance, he couldn't take his eyes off her all night, try as he might to avoid her. He swallowed the pretzel with relish and walked purposefully back to his date.

"Oh Draco, isn't the castle lovely?" she gushed, "This place is sometimes more a home to me than my place on Summington Way."

"I know what you mean," he thought of Malfoy Manor, the lack of Christmas ornamentation in favor of a traditional Gothic decor year round. He gazed wistfully at the dozen crystal-coated trees in the Great Hall. Of course, his eyes found Hermione, twirling around with Krum. His heart raced. Oh my, she really was getting into it, wasn't she? he thought with a pang of desire and guilt. He had always told her he didn't fancy her. He wanted her to now her was more important than that; a friend first, but god, she was an incredible woman. True, she wasn't conventionally attractive, but she was so kind and loyal and passionate and driven and...

"Draco! Who are you staring at? You've been distracted all night." She pouted and placed a hand on his arm.

"Oh it's-it's Viktor Krum. Bangin' good Quidditch player, he is," his voice sounded too cheery, too thick.

She furrowed her browin disbelief. "You've been looking at his an awful lot tonight...is there, someone _else_ you'd rather be with? You can tell me. If I'm," she gestured downward to dress, no, to her breasts, "If I'm not your type, Draco..."

Oh Merlin's saggy left nut. "You think I'm gay?!" He howled with laughter.

"I just mean, you can tell me if you are! You're looking at him the way I look at Warlock singers," she blushed.

"I don't know, Pans. Maybe you're not my type," he said as he dreamily watched Hermione raise her arms and laugh in delight.

"Oh," she blinked, "Well, look, if you'd rather quit dancing...maybe you have some things to think about?" He just realized he had confirmed to her that he was gay. Well, that was stupid. She'd probably just change her mind and pursue him again in a week or so. At least he was shot of her tonight.

He thanked her and walked out to the gardens. Professor Snape was patrolling; he walked in the other direction. The dance was still in full swing, so there were very few students out here. Just a few couples huddled close, sharing lover's words and gentle touches. He wondered if Snape hadn't said anything about it purely out of embarrassment. Draco still held a small cup of pretzels, and he ate them as he walked.

His thoughts went back to his mother. He was neglecting writing to her after being teased by Blaise about being a Mama's boy. Would she approve of Hermione? His bushy haired, Gryffindor, Mudbl-Muggle-born, best friend. It distressed his whole body to think about her reaction if they ever met. His body felt so weak he thought his heart would crack it, his lungs rattled with constricting fear. His two beloved ladies...and they would hate each other. Would Draco ever be happy? Could he? He found so much wrong with everything around him, he felt he could never be content. He still enjoyed life, he guessed, but there was always the feeling _it could be better_. He could dress nicer, have better friends, talk smoother, be happy in a real relationship. With a girl, thank you very much Pansy Parkinson.

"YOU...COMPLETE _ARSE_ RONALD WEASLEY!"

Hermione came rushing into the corridor he was walking along, her hair ruined and her heels off, being carried in her hand. He quickened his pace, gave a cursory glance, then in one fluid motion grabbed her elbow and pulled her into a storage closet, locking it behind him.

The bewildered look slowly faded from her face. In his wand light, he could see her makeup streaking down her lovely soft cheeks. He pushed a stray curl behind her shoulder. "Hermione," he looked her up and down, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said in small voice.

"Nothing?" his gaze burrowed straight through her.

"Ronald..." Draco understood. He saw the way that prat looked at her, and he heard the way he insulted her. Of course Potter did nothing. His poor Hermione.

"Hermione...I have a gift for you. Would you please come with me?" He took her hand in both of his and stroked it with his thumb.


	13. Chapter 13

Draco monitored the halls for a long time before they could leave. Hermione giggled when she saw two students yanked out of a bush with their robes clasped wrong. Draco vaguely wondered where his friends thought he was. Hermione had the cover of being cross with Weasley, but Draco was surely being missed by his friends. Not to sound conceited, it's just that he was prone to fits of acting and joking, and was usually the one talking; he enjoyed making his friends laugh. Finally, Hagrid and Madame Maxime crossed in front of their closet and the coast was clear. Draco tugged Hermione's hand forward.

Draco was holding her hand, even after three staircases and two hallways. Hermione willed her palm not to sweat, but she was so nervous. Draco had started as a mutual enemy, and then a well-kept secret indulgence, and then her best and dearest friend. She would almost be willing to admit to their friendship if anyone asked her, but she wouldn't want to upset him. But now...she watched his silver blonde hair bobbing in front of her as they snuck through the dark castle, dodging around statues to keep covered. It was thrilling to break the rules sometimes. When it was for something like this. _Stop blushing, you're making your hand sweat._ Draco was the kindest boy she had ever met, and funny, and charming, and she had never realized that the "cunnning and ambition" Slytherin House stood for could be so noble. He wanted to make the world a better place, no matter what the cost. He was a hard worker and a charismatic networker.

He stopped her in front of a familiar wooden door. "Draco, aren't we passed meeting in lavatories?"

"Not just yet," he smiled. _Cutie_.

He opened the door and gestured her inside. She took two steps and stopped. Stopped walking, stopped breathing, stopped worrying about anything in the world. The dingy restroom was flooded with candle light: long white stalks burning from every surface imaginable, and some charmed to float in the air. The floor had been swept and mopped, the stain removed. In their place were flower petals in lovely shades of lavender and periwinkle. It matched her dress, coincidentally. Thick drapings were hung over the stall doors and the window so that it hardly looked like a bathroom and instead was reminiscent of an oddly-shaped party hall. Or a ballroom.

She turned, tears sparkling in her eyes, to see Draco pulling from behind a stall, a Muggle stereo. How in the world did he get a Muggle stereo? He placed it on the floor and a lovely melody began. She realized she knew the song, which was another shock, as it was from the Muggle artist Ed McMan, his song "I'll Be." Draco extended a hand to her and purred, "May I please have this dance?"

"Oh, Draco," she whispered, taking his hand and walking into his arms. He wrapped them around her back and they moved in a rotating hug for a time, him stroking her back, smoothing her hair, telling her how sorry he was that Ron had spoiled her one night of glamour.

"Oh, this trumps anything I might've done with Viktor," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, pulling back to assume a dancing position. The song changed; it appeared he had an entire mix set up. "And what were you planning to do with Krum?"

She laughed, and blushed, "Not _that!_ " She paused, "Not this."

His eyes, normally steely gray, were warm and dark. They looked black against the candles, but in a way that wasn't frightening in the least. She moved her hand across his green robes, his slender shoulders, so bony and frail. She was taller than him in heels, and as they danced she not-too-slyly slipped them off so that she could rest her head comfortably on his shoulder. He grazed her earlobe with his cold thumb.

"Draco?"

"Mm?"

"Do most friends act this way?"

He was quiet for awhile, "I think we're special."

She nodded.

"Draco?"

"Yes?" he pulled apart to look her in the eye.

"You're very special to me."

His lip wavered as if he might cry, which shocked her. But then he locked his fingers behind her neck and placed both thumbs on her jawline, _not what friends do_ , she screamed inside, and quickly closed the distance between them. He hesitated, their lips close enough to brush against each other at the slightest movement, but they were both perfectly still. The music had stopped. His voice wavered: "May I?" His breathed smelled of peppermint.

"Yes," she exhaled, and didn't catch her breath, because his lips were on hers, his mouth slightly parted into hers, his fingers tracing their way across her shoulder blades as he pressed his mouth to hers again and again without ever really moving away. She tried not to respond too forcefully, but it was hard. The first kiss was shocking, the second romantic, and by the third she was fully intoxicated. She bit at his lower lip when he advanced for the fourth, and he let out something between a gasp and a groan. On the fifth she moved her hand to the back of his head, into his soft blonde hair. On the sixth, she couldn't help but pull it a little. The seventh kiss brought her to the ground, literally. She detached from him and sank shakily to the floor, holding her dizzy head and trying to make sense of it all.

He crouched down beside her, and when she didn't move to get up, he sat. "You're going to ruin that dress. These floors are clean _er_ but-" he cut off at the look she was giving him. _I care about the dress why? Nothing matters the way it did before this._

"Did I make a mistake?" he asked. She thought about all the prejudice in his family, how she could never be his girlfriend even if he wanted that. It was late, and he was confused, and he made a mistake in kissing her. He felt bad now that he had messed with her feelings. They were friends. Were they? For a moment she panicked, thinking that maybe the past month had been part of some kind of joke with his cronies.

"Whoa, whoa, Hermione," he leaned towards her, "What are you thinking? This," he picked up her hand and kissed it gently, "This is not a mistake. Not for me. I didn't want to...mistake your feelings. I don't want you to lose a friend by me assuming you want more. I," his voice was strained and thick, "I want more."

She looked up and realized he was crying, "Hermione, I want you. Every day, until the end of days. I want to walk these halls with you, hand in hand. I want...I want _us_ , my darling Hermione, I want this to be my reality. Our reality. Not an escape in a journal. Real."

"I...Draco I feel the same," she crawled into his arms and wiped a tear away, "I want us so badly. But I-I don't think it will make your life easier. I think it will be worse. I think," her voice cracked, "I think at least for now, for this year maybe, we need to stay hidden. What with the World Cup fiasco, and the follow-up Muggle-baiting...it would be dangerous for us to be together. Your father," her thumb grazed a scar on his neck and anger bubbled inside her, "Your father wouldn't understand. He would take it out on you. And then-and then he may kill me," she shrugged. His grip tightened on her like a vice, like someone was going to be attacking her right now.

"No, no one will hurt you."

"You know what it's like for Muggle-borns. You know they would."

His face grew grim and gray, despite the warm light. "This isn't fair," his voice was hollow. "You're the greatest thing in my life, and I'm the most dangerous thing in yours. This. Isn't. Fair."

She shook her head, "No, no it's not. But we-Harry, and Dumbledore, and all the rest-we're gonna build a better world. You can help."

He looked her deep in the eyes, and something inside him seemed to set. It was like she could see his thoughts digging in to the ground, refusing to be changed, steeling for the hellfire to come. "Hermione. Know this now: I am loyal to you, and you alone. I am not my father's son, not anymore. I am not a servant to the Dark Lord, because I know- _I can feel-_ that he's out there. I will do whatever it takes to protect you, and protect the future of this," he gestured around the room, "For everyone. I know...I know I have to act like nothing is changed, that we are strangers or maybe enemies, but it's all to keep you safe. I love you, Hermione Granger, and I'm going to fight for you."

He held her for a long time as she cried.


	14. Chapter 14

The Third Task was in a week and all Hermione could think about were pale gray eyes and cold fingers on her cheek. Harry nudged her in the side. "Look, I'm trying my best but if you don't take notes we'll all fail," he whispered with a panicked look in his eye. History of Magic was his worst subject. Hermione shook herself from her memories and began writing: _The International Warlock Convention of 1467..._ she hadn't seen Draco in person in ages. Only four times since the ball at Christmas. And it was June already, time for testing. Both of them had a lot of studying to do, and to top it off Hermione was spending her spare time running drills with Harry to help in the maze. She thought it sounded safer than dragons, but you could never be surprised with Dumbledore around what crazy magical things were going to pop up.

Since that night, when they agreed they could never be together, they had spent nearly every hour writing to each other. She had laughed and cried as she learned all about her red-letter love interest. He had been a pampered child, given every wizarding toy imaginable (and several that she had to have described to her in great detail to understand); his mother was in a wine club with her friends, which was basically a meeting of all female Death Eaters, but it was hilarious to watch them get drunk; he spent his winter holiday at a cabin in the snowy forest, which sounded lovely, and he promised to take her there one day, perhaps when his parents were dead and they were seventy years old.

She knew his boggart was his father, and that as a baby he had seen Muggle corpses at scenes like the World Cup before his eyes were hastily hidden by his mother. She knew he had trouble sleeping, and was more frightened than possibly anyone by the prospect of You-Know-Who returning. She often stayed up writing to him when he was awoken by nightmares of his Aunt Bellatrix's fiendish howling as she regaled them with stories from her past. She knew, too, that he admired Harry and hoped beyond hope that he could do something, _anything_ to make the world peaceful again.

On the occasions when they had met up...oh, my. Once, he had packed her a picnic, which they shared in their bathroom (jinxed to be locked and muffled) before exploring the concept of kissing each other some more. That tended to be the ending of their every meeting. But before things got intimate physically, they would talk, share, cry, hold each other: all the things they should have been able to do publicly but couldn't.

Physically, Hermione found it hard to keep herself under control, but Draco showed amazing restraint. He always asked her before taking a step into further intimate behavior, which usually meant-Hermione blushed bright red under her tanned skin-feeling under her shirt. On their last visit, her shirt had finally come off. Whoops. She had been inspired into this action by Draco's removal of his own white button up. He was strong for a boy of fourteen, with almost-defined muscles that she loved to run her fingers across. His chest was warm, unlike most of him, and his cheeked flushed pink every time she touched him there. He had brushed kisses along her neck and before she had had time to finish a murmur of "May I?" she was lifting her shirt up and over her head, and unclasping her bra. She knew she could stand to lose a few pounds bunched up on top of her jeans, and her breasts were smallish and uneven, and she was scared when he had stepped away from her, leaving only the tips to his fingers on her side.

"You, my darling, are the most lovely, most sensual, most alluring sin I have ever committed," he had said to her as he studied her body. His eyes moved back to hers and he locked her in a kissing embrace, his hands exploring the skin of her back and stomach, moving up, up...

Harry nudged her again. _Goblins agree to exchange of resources, followed by betrayal and massacre_... "Let's work on defensive spells tonight."

"That sounds fine," she whispered, hardly trusting her voice not to quiver.

"You okay, Hermione?" he asked after a pause. "It's just, usually you seem more...anxious this time of year."

"Oh, yes, Harry, I've just been trying to, er, relax more," she said, "Like Ron." On the other side of Harry, Ron was dozing into an empty notebook. Harry looked at her with apprehension.

"You want your study habits to be more like Ron's? Is that what I'm hearing?" He was smiling, and with his shaggy black hair he looked like a playful stray puppy.

Professor Bins muttered "Hush, Perkins, this is important," and continued his drone.

After a long night of hexing Harry in the Gryffindor common room, and then unhexing him several times before he could defend himself, Hermione settled in to bed. If he couldn't beat a fourth year, she wasn't sure what chance he stood in the Final Task.

"Ew, Hermione, pull up your blouse, I can see your nipple!" Pavarti shrieked. They giggled as she nervously tugged her nightgown up. _Idiots_. If they couldn't tell the difference between a woman's nipple and a fading hickey, that just proved how fake their conquest stories were. "Bunch of pretend sluts," Draco had started calling them. She grimaced at how true she found it. Speaking of Draco, she pulled out her notebook.

_How's my fallen angel tonight?_

_Can't sleep. Could use a midnight snack?_

_And I'll just bet I know what you're craving._

_Pretzels ;)_

_Well, you know I can't tonight, I've got to finish that letter to the Ministry about Elvish Wages. Which you said you'd help with by the way! Plus, the pretend sluts already know I'm here. I've no excuse to leave._

_Figured as much. It's the same every night._

_We had last week._

_Mm..last week._

_Oh, Draco quit!_

_You're gorgeous, 'mione._

_And you're delusional._

 

Draco sat up in bed, smiling in to his notebook. Delusional, was he? _You're right,_ he scrawled, _I must have imagined it. Too perfect._

 _Hardly. I miss you,_ she wrote.

Oh how he missed her as well. Hermione was the most splendid thing that had ever happened to him. He was sleeping more regularly, acing his classes, and except for the times that missing her made his gut cry out in misery, he was much less cynical. Perhaps they could be together after all. Perhaps he was still young enough to change the impression he left on people. Perhaps the Dark Lord would never return, and his followers would die out, and he could have half-blood children with bushy brown hair and chocolate eyes. Perhaps.

He loved hearing her talk about SPEW. It had started as a bit of a joke, but it really had him interested on a deeper level. Was it their oppression that made them crave servitude, in a blind Stockholm syndrome kind of mirage? Or would freeing them really make them worse off, starve them of their purpose in life? Was Dobby a simple outlier or the spark of a revolution? And darling Hermione was so enthralled by it, so empassioned. Her eyes glittered as she planned out meetings and protests. She had gained three members since the First Task, two Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff, making a sum total of fifteen. Exhilarated, she had organized a club meeting, spending hours making snacks, writing up agendas, making more pins in case they brought friends, and no one had shown up. Draco knew because he was waiting around the corner, ready to be in defiant attendance if anyone actually had turned up. He wanted people to see him there and join. As it was, no one came, and he snuck in quietly, him and Hermione eating all the snacks she had prepared and strategizing for the future of SPEW. She put on a brave face for him, but when he held her she let out tears of frustration.

 _What time is it?_ he asked. His father had denied him buying a watch last time they were in Diagon Alley, saying a watch was a luxury only men could have and Draco was not yet seventeen. As such, he was always asking her the time.

 _Nearly eleven_.

_Reckon I should sleep._

_Yes, I reckon you should. Goodnight Draco._

_Goodnight, darling._ He shut his notebook and his eyes. Her handwriting swam through his mind, tight and jagged and small. He could almost taste her pink lips. He slid his knees up in bed to cover any evidence of his thoughts. That was it; he _had_ to be with her. Openly. Every day. At the end of the Third Task, he was going to waltz right up and kiss her, and he would proudly hold her hand down every hall and he would _make_ people accept it. If his parents refused to accept and protect her, he would move in with his disowned Aunt Andromeda. He knew she was in the Order back during the war, and maybe she could help him now. He ought to write to her. It had been, what? Thirteen years since he'd seen her? He hoped she would help, but would his mother do the same for her daughter Nymphadora? Draco wasn't sure she would. He fell asleep and dreamed he was living with Hermione in the kitchens with the elves. They were wearing handmade socks and Draco kept saying "We're free now Hermione! Look, we're free!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter! Thank you so much for reading!

Hermione awoke feeling sick on the day of the Third Task. She had been sleeping less lately, balancing her time between exams, training, and Draco. She scrubbed her face in the sink, evaluated today's acne situation, and left with an exasperated roll of her eyes. What did it matter anyway? Just get through today and you'll be able to relax. Harry's _not_ going to die in this tournament.

She and the boys made their way down to the Great Hall, her and Ron both trying to reassure Harry somewhat pointlessly. Who knew what would be in the maze? Even Dumbledore had said how dangerous it was. And didn't Harry's participation prove how ineffectual the Ministry's precautions were?

She didn't mention any of that.

All she thought about as she picked at her toast was getting through today with everyone in tact. Harry would be fine, he had to be. She reached across the table and hesitantly placed a hand on his. He smiled uneasily, "Honestly, Hermione, I'll be fine. Don't worry."

She rolled her eyes, "That's likely."

"S' true Harry," Ron cut in, "Last night I watched her tear up over a Charms essay. Mental with worry. In a good way," he added hastily at the look she was giving him.

"All I'm saying is...this isn't just some Quidditch match. You could die," she said.

"I almost die at least once a year from Quidditch," he shrugged, not quite pulling it off as casually as he probably intended. "Only difference is I'm on the ground. I wonder if I'd do better if I summoned my broom," he rubbed his chin. Harry had no facial hair whatsoever, a fact Ronald loved. Ron had been sporting a red patch of stubble on his chin proudly for months, and would probably start grooming it when it got long enough. _Give it another six months,_ Hermione thought with a concealed snicker.

She tried the rest of the day to stay calm and not show Harry how worried she was. She didn't think she'd managed it very well, and as she climbed the bleachers with Ron she nibbled furiously on her nubbed fingernails, anxious for the time a few hours from now when they could put the whole tournament behind them. Maybe Harry even stood a chance of winning. If he didn't die.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco stretched awake at the sound of his roommates' laughter. He didn't mind being woken like he usually did; thanks to Hermione he was sleeping so much better. "What's so funny boys?" he asked in a hearty voice. Time to play Mr. Rich and Popular and Friendly.

Greg held up something small that glinted in the firelight and guffawed, "Something from your mommy, Draco?"

Draco's face fell and turned ashen, "What's that? Give it here!" he commanded. Greg tossed it over and him and Vincent had to hold each other with their laughter. He turned the object over in his hand. It was a watch. A wizards watch, with five hands and a lunar calandar on the rim, and runes in place of numbers. Draco couldn't read runes, but it was fairly easy to distinguish the numbers. His heart swelled. His mom had sent him a watch? After all the embarrassment and arguing with father, she had done it anyway?

"H-Here, Ickle Drakikins," Vince choked between chortles.

It was a note, once folded nicely on fresh parchment before being manged by his friends' sweaty mits. _You're more than man enough, I think, my fallen angel._

Hermione. His faced pinked, then reddened. His friends had read that. They thought it was from his mother. And he...couldn't correct them. Then again, Draco was rather stating to feel like Hermione could replace every other person on Earth and he would be just fine with it. What a wonderful girl. He left the room under a guise of anger so that they couldn't see the tears forming in his affectionate eyes as he fastened the watch on his wrist. That settled it. He was going public, and it was going to be tonight. Friends be damned.

Hours later, he made his way up the stands of the familiar Quidditch field, destroyed by hedges for tonight. The audience had a good enough view to see what was going on in the maze, provided the champion wasn't too close to one side. In the center, clearly and shining for everyone except the four inside, was a glowing blue goblet. It had been explained that whoever reached it first would be champion. A pretty poor way to judge magical skill, Draco thought.

He watched with anticipation as Cedric and Potter ran towards the goblet. How predictable that they would save each other. But at least, he mused, it was twice the honor for Hogwarts, and surely it said something about their students. Maybe Durmstrang wasn't so great. But his real trepidation lay with the spectacle he was planning after the match. He would march right up to that beautiful freckled face and kiss her until everyone was watching. Until they sent in a news crew: _Man kisses girlfriend so long he passes out, breaks world record._

The two boys were reaching their hands out now. What would Pansy think when she learned he wasn't gay? The crowd was screaming; they each grabbed a handle.

Silence.

They were gone. Disappeared. _What the hell?_

After a few minutes, the Minister came out, tried to say something comforting that no one listened to. The teachers were starting to evacuate students. Draco's stomach sank. This couldn't be good; this was somehow related to _him_ , the Dark Lord. He could feel it. He stood and inched his way among the crowd to the Gryffindor students, not bothering with his friends' objections. Amos Diggory was pushing his way to the front.

And then _pop._

Two figures landed on the ground. Chaos erupted. Draco couldn't tell what was going on but the words spread around him like a hissing fire. _Dead. Diggory's dead. You-Know-Who is back_.

He sank to his knees and let himself get jostled by the crowd.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _Are you awake?_ he wrote.

_Of course._

_It's 3 am._

_He's back. I don't know if I'll ever sleep again. And Harry...I can't do anything to console him. I can't console myself._

_Meet me in ten minutes._

The bathroom was dark and scary this late at night; it reminded him of the Manor's unoccupied rooms. He supposed the world would be dark and scary now and he might as well get used to it. Still, he cast a Lumos.

The door clicked. Hermione entered. Her hair was flat on one side from lying down, her eyes bloodshot and her robe clasped tight around her neck, like she thought she could keep the Death Eaters out if they didn't see her bare flesh.

Draco couldn't take it. He buckled to the ground, yet again, and sobbed. She stooped nect to him, placing ahand on his knee. "Draco," she whispered, " It will be okay. Eventually. We can beat him. We can protect you and your family. We have to fight." Her voice was steely and rigid, like she knew what she would soon be forced to endure. It wasn't comforting.

"Hermione," he croaked, "This is over."

She faltered, "What?"

"I can't...I can't ever see you again. It's too dangerous," he looked up at her shining brown eyes, "They'll kill you."

"I-Draco, I can defend myself."

He choked out a mirthless laugh. "Defend yourself? From the Killing Curse, from Crucio, from an army of Death Eaters?"

"We'll have an army, too," she said defiantly.

"Not like his. Trust me. Darling, please, I want nothing more than to be with you forever but...he's back." He paused, shaking with sobs, "Voldemort's back. And if I were near you, you would be dead. Or worse." His aunt's laughter rang in his ears.

"No," her voice wavered. A tear rolled down her face and on to his lap. He gathered her in his arms, but she squirmed uncomfortably. She looked down and sighed. "I knew what this meant as soon as I saw Cedric come back from that graveyard. I knew...I knew we would have to stop. I want you to know it's," she hiccuped, "It's been the best year of my short life, with you, dear. And so I...wanted to share something with you. So that when we're off, on opposite sides of this inevitable battle, you'll remember me. And maybe it'll save you inside. And maybe it'll save me, too."

He didn't really understand what she was saying, she always was much smarter than him. But what she did next took the thought away, for that night anyway. He realized that that night was to be one of goodbye, and sweet togetherness. She guided his hand beneath her tightly drawn robe onto her side. Her bare side. He surveyed quickly upward and downward. Nothing. Bloody fucking hell. She unclasped her robe and Hermione Granger stood, or rather sat, naked in front of him.

He felt his mouth open, felt his eyes widen, trying to take in as much as he could. Her round hips, her pale thighs contrasted with her tan arms. She was unshaven, but he didn't care. He knew she was never one for beauty regimes anyways. She was- "Stunning" he managed. She was bright red, and he was shaking all over.

"I don't know what to do after this part," she whispered.

He leaned toward her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and kissed beneath her ear. "Nor do I," he breathed.

And then they were kissing, and his shirt was being unbuttoned, and he was hardly aware of the racket they were making in their awkwardness, and he must've asked a hundred times if she was comfortable. He hastened away as she cried out when it finally went in, "No no, come back," she urged. "It's okay." And slowly, they worked it out. It was not smooth, not finessed, not polished, but it was more sensational than anything Draco could have imagined, Her breathing excited him, and he gained fervor as her pain subsided into pleasure. He watched her lovingly beneath him, and for a short point on top of him, and felt entirely content. Nothing could be wrong in a world that Hermione Granger existed in. Look at her. My god.

Too soon, it was over. He wondered fearfully if maybe it was _too_ too soon. But his darling Hermione settled in next to him and told him she loved him and they cried together, for the last time. They cried for the beauty of what they had done, and the love they had found, and the separation they would now have to bear. They cried for those, possibly themselves included, who would soon die at the hands of the Dark Lord, and for the children and the parents of the dark future, and for Cedric Diggory. They cried without words, for the loss of all innocence; wrested from them too soon by the evil forces which had risen from bone, flesh, and blood to become Death itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning a sequel taking place in 6th year, so be sure to check in on my page. Again, thank you.


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